


The Taurus and the Diner

by scullyphile



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Air Conditioning, Driving, Eating, F/M, Fluff, Food, Hot and Cold, MSR, The X-Files Revival, diner, ford taurus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 19:44:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4799948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scullyphile/pseuds/scullyphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The air conditioning stopped working in the rental car. Mulder and Scully pull over to cool off. This is the edited/more polished version of my entry to the XF Writing Challenge on Tumblr. The prompt was hot/cold, and I wrote this in about 40 minutes. Check out the #xfwritingchallege tag if you're on Tumblr, there's some good stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Taurus and the Diner

It's 95 degrees, a humid August day in a Midwest town. A powder blue Taurus pulls up to the diner at the same time as my black Aveo and parks next to me. My air conditioner hasn't worked for awhile now, my hair is everywhere, and I am sweating. As I get out of my car, so does the couple in the powder blue Taurus.  The man is on the passenger side, the woman the driver's side. As I open my door I hear them, mid-argument.

  
"If we'd gotten the SUV like I wanted, this never would have happened, Mulder, that's all I am saying."

  
"Scully, they had a Taurus! I had to, for old times. I saw it in the lot and just knew it was the one for us. Sure, they don't look like they used to, but it's basically our car."

  
"We've driven a lot of rental cars over the years. I don't see what makes this one so special."

  
As I am standing there, messing with the strap of my purse, car door still open, they are arguing around the car, each still on their respective sides. Mulder is leaning his left arm on the door of the Taurus.

  
"Maybe I'm just a romantic, and I wanted to remember the good old days."

  
"Oh, and I'm not romantic, that's it? Well, maybe it would be more romantic if I weren't roasting in an oven!"

  
"How was I supposed to know the air conditioning would go out in the middle of the drive?! I can't know that, Scully; I don't have ESP!"

  
At this last part, the man slams his car door and spins around quickly, colliding directly with me.

  
"Whoa," is all I manage to blurt out after colliding with this handsome older man. His eyes meet mine with apology.

  
"I'm sorry. I didn't see you there," he says, grabbing my upper arm. "Are you OK?"

  
"I'm fine. Don't worry," I say, and laugh, waving my hand in a don't-worry-about-it gesture. I hope they don't know I've been lingering in the heat just to keep listening to their argument. My face is already red from the heat, but I swear it's getting redder the longer he looks at me.

  
"OK," he says again, releasing my arm, "as long as you're fine."

  
"No problem at all," I say, smiling. I wave to the Scully, who gives me an apologetic look, and start walking into the diner. I hear her door slam, and their feet shuffling toward the door as they walk behind me.

  
The door to the diner has the obligatory bell that dings as I walk in. Thankfully, the air conditioning is cranked on high, and I am hit with a blast of arctic-cold air. I take a seat at the counter and look at the menu, but out of the corner of my eye, I am still watching the couple.

  
They take their seats in the booth behind me.

  
"At least it's cool in here," she says.

  
"Look, I'm sorry about the car, but I don't see how it's my fault."

  
Their conversation is pretty much the only entertainment I have right now, besides Patsy Cline singing "Walking After Midnight," and I'm only somewhat ashamed to admit am going to keep eavesdropping. I decide to take advantage of the swiveling stool I'm on to catch a glimpse of them over my shoulder.

  
His hands lay flat on the table, and her hands come timidly over to rest on top of his. One of her thumbs is caressing that soft spot between his thumb and index finger.

  
"I didn't say it was your fault, Mulder, I'm just frustrated." With her touch, I can tell he's melted. He no longer seems angry. It suddenly starts to feel like a very intimate moment, and I swivel back to my menu casually.

  
I stare at the menu for several minutes trying to decide if I want to order breakfast or lunch. Neither of them says anything, so I assume similar decisions are being made behind me.

  
A waitress walks up to me with her order pad in hand.

  
"I'll have the pancake special," I say, "and a large orange juice."

  
"Pancake special and a large orange juice," she repeats back. "OK then." She then turns to the booth behind me. "What can I get you folks to drink? Or are you ready to order?"

  
"I'll have coffee and the Big Breakfast Plate," Mulder answers.

  
"A very large glass of ice water with lemon, and a salad with light Italian dressing on the side."

  
"I'll take your menus. That will be out shortly," the waitress says, walking away.

  
"You're getting coffee? It's 95 degrees out there, Mulder."

  
"Well, it's not 95 degrees in here, Scully, and I want some coffee."

  
"Whatever you say," she pauses and seems to be considering whether or not to say what's on her mind. "That Big Breakfast Plate sure looked like it had a lot of cholesterol in it. Are you sure that's good at your age?"

  
"Oh my god, don't pull this friend and physician stuff on me right now, Scully. It's been a long day."

  
"You know I only say these things because I care about how long you're going to be on this planet, old man. You should worry if I don't nag you about your health."

  
"That'll be the day," he laughs.

  
The waitress comes with our drinks. She sets down my orange juice first, then turns to their table, setting down the coffee and ice water.

  
"Thank you."

  
"I'm still overheated from the car," she complains, and I hear her spoon tink against the side of her glass. I swivel slightly to my left just in time to see her take the ice in her hand and rub it against her neck. It melts quickly, the water rolling down her low-cut shirt.

  
"Mm, that's better," she nearly moans, closing her eyes.

  
_This is not something I am supposed to be seeing,_ I think. _Oh my god, swivel back, swivel back!_ But I don't. He leans across the table toward her.

  
"You're killing me here, Scully." His voice comes out a low, raspy whisper.

  
Her eyes open, and she reaches over and hits him playfully on the shoulder.

  
"It's your own fault. You and that damn car."

  
Their faces are close now. He's leaning so far over the table. I'm basically staring, having given up on seeming casual.

  
"I have to say, the Taurus has always been good to me. Here," he offers, pushing the glass of ice water toward her, "have some more ice, Scully. You're right. It's pretty hot in here."


End file.
